


A Matter of Standard Arcane Practice

by Barbedbeat



Category: Pillars of Eternity
Genre: Naked Aloth!, Stag Helm!, dragons!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2019-01-05 17:20:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12194304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barbedbeat/pseuds/Barbedbeat
Summary: There was only one thing Aloth Corfiser hated more than dragons, and it was being naked.For a bizarre turn of destiny, he ended up having to deal with both things at once.Inspo: https://forums.obsidian.net/topic/77615-spoilerone-shotting-the-adra-dragon/





	A Matter of Standard Arcane Practice

 

_Art by the awesome @Fangmich._

_Story by me._

 

“What do you mean with, ‘I lost my clothes’?!” The Watcher’s voice was muffledby the thick wall of rubble between them.

“What d’ye think it means, ye stone-headed doober, ye? I am _naked_!” Aloth pinched the bridge of his nose and counted to four, allowing Iselmyr’s anger to boil down. Then, trying to steady his voice against the mounting mixture of panic and frustration that threatened to seize his windpipe, he resumed.

“You see, after the vault had finished collapsing on us, I moved further down and begun looking for a way around it. But, alas… ” he let out a deep sigh and, careful not to make himself seen, moved closer to the hole through which the Watcher’s eye peeped out. “I ended up finding an acid bolt trap, instead.”A groan left his throat as he shot a glance to the heap of half-molten clothes that sizzled in a corner. “I had to strip every piece of garment off of me before the acid could bite through it. And even so, my arm got covered in blist-”

“What? Aloth?! Naked?!?!”

A formidable whistle erupted from behind the rubble, sending a jolt of scorching embarrassment to his cheeks. “Maneha, _please_ …”, he whined, hiding his face behind his palms. Right beside her, he could hear Edér’s customary raspy laughter turn into a squeal.

The wizard shook his head and slouched against the wall. “Whenever you’re finished making fun of my… predicament, I’d be most grateful if you’d manage to pass me something- _anything_ \- to help me warm my bones a tad. These dungeons are unbearably dank.”

“Oh, ho— hold on, old pal,” Edér’s voice was cracked by the struggle to control the explosive bursts of giggles that shook his chest, “Imma go look for somethin’ to fit you.”

A few moments passed, marked by the nervous clicking of nails on stone.

Then, finally,

“Uh, Aloth? Are you still there?”

“As if I had a choice.”

“Good.” The man’s tone was torn between utter amusement and bewilderment. 

“We only found this… this _thing_ , and frankly I have no idea how it ended up in my backpack. But here: you can have it.” Something loosely resembling an antler poked through a crack, soon followed by another, perfectly identical in shape and size.

Not even three seconds later, Aloth was swinging on the verge of a mental breakdown.  


“Aloth, boy? Have you died or sumthin’?”

 

“Just… just…” The elf was, maybe for the first time in his life, at a loss for words. “Just what the everloving fuck is this thing supposed to be?!”

 

His mouth was agape in disbelief, white knuckles wrenched around what could only be described as a floppy deer scalp, complete with two empty sockets, a pair of horns and a fuzzy strip of hide dangling from its nape.

 

“I told you: no idea. But hey.” Aloth heard Edér’s armour clank as his shoulders raised in a shrug. “It’s better than nothing, I guess.”

 

With a bitter snort, Aloth unrolled the flap and threw it around its shoulders. 

_At least it will protect yer neck if one of those massive cave spiders decides to jump on you._

Every single pore in his skin tingled in disgust at the sole thought.

 

“If it can help keep your mood up, elf,” Maneha said, her tone as irritatingly upbeat as ever, “and if my calculations are correct, you should be less than two hours away from the master staircase. Which means,” she chuckled, “we’re more trapped than you are.”

 

“Ah. _Delightful_.”

 

“Oh, come on, Aloth, stop being such a downer! Look at the bright side, for once!”, she continued. “I mean, literally. Just look for any hint of light coming in from above, and follow that to its source. In the meantime, we’ll try and loop around the debris, meet you somewhere further below. Worst case scenario, we’ll catch you upstairs.”

 

A spurt of exasperation made the veins in his temple throb dangerously as, restraining the urge to tell her exactly where to put her scenarios, he turned his back to the ravine and started walking.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Aloth had been marching for what felt like years, a lonely globe of fire his only source of light and comfort, when his toe landed on something wet, cold, and nauseatingly squishy. It took all of his self-control to choke down the shriek brewing in his throat.

He stood still for a while, eyes squeezed shut, every drop of energy aimed at keeping his mind from wondering what kind of creature was now stuck underneath his foot. 

_Get quelled, laddie. It’s just a bit o’ slug._

“Sssshit.”

_No, not shit. Slug._

“Keep it on, why don’t you?!”

With a ragged sigh, he scraped his foot clean and resumed his descent.

Since the moment he’d found himself alone, he could feel Iselmyr’s constant presence prickle underneath his skin, a drop of playful mockery dabbing at his otherwise immaculate frustration. 

And still, in spite of her constant and tactless intrusion, he could not bring himself to lash out at his Awakened personality, let alone try and repress her. 

For all their differences, their alliance had proven to be a fruitful one. A bit unorthodox, perhaps. But fruitful nonetheless.

Without her help and wicked sense of humour, he pondered, all the while scanning the seemingly endless tunnel that uncoiled its entrails before his gaze, he would probably have given up already. On a lot more things than he’d care to admit.

“Say,”, he sighed, a lock of hair spun between his fingers. “Has this ever happened to you?”

_Just what are ye goin’ on about, now?_

“I mean, has something like… _this_ ever happened to you, back in your days? Finding yourself trapped half mile underground, dressed like the day your were born, sporting a limp, smelly piece of game around your neck?”

_Ah, my sweetest, spellspeakin’ daisy._ She said, before laughing her shrill laugh, y _ou have no idea._

 

He decided not to enquire any further and kept putting one foot in front of the other, absent-mindedly tracing the contours of the Adra crusts that blossomed between the stone cracks all around. Until- 

“Well, shit.”

In spite of his best efforts to deny it, he was ultimately forced to admit that “I’ve been going in a bloody circle .”

He extended a finger to poke at the rubble he’d left from and listened. On the other side, silence reigned undisturbed. 

His companions were already good and gone, making way for a terrible sense of loneliness to gnaw at his guts.

Stifling a sob, he collapsed against the wall and let himself slide all the way to the ground. 

“We’re dying here.” he whispered- mostly to himself, head resting between his elbows. 

Iselmyr didn’t quite share his catastrophic views and felt compelled to rectify that.

_Dinnae get your mood wilting, lad. We’re gonna be just fine._

The elf ignored her, completely lost in the aphotic depths of his self-pity.

“Don’t get me wrong: I’m not afraid dying, just… ” he took a good, long look at his bare complexion, at the murky, dirt-covered walls that seemed to be closing down on him and felt a spark of dignified rage igniting his blood. “…just _NOT_ like _this_!”

He yanked the deerskin off his shoulders and held it in front of his eyes for the briefest of seconds, spite etched plain on his face. “This whole situation is just… _insulting_.” The pelt landed at his feet with a soft thump.

_Yer gonna die all right if ye don’t keep that thing on. Frozen to an icicle, they’re gonna find ye. Just wait and see._

He sat still for a while, stubbornly determined not to surrender to the increasingly intense chill that threatened to make his bones rattle.

 

Then, a most annoyed growl rumbling in his throat, he reached for the limp deerskin, placed it over his head and pulled it down on his ears with a violence.

“Whoa”, he uttered, as an unexpected trickle of magic seeped down his spine, causing the fine hairs on the back of his neck to stand up. In the blink of an eye, his weariness had disappeared, and a new kind of strength was now thumping wild through his veins. 

“This thing…” he whispered, eyes wide, “this thing is _enchanted_! And very potently so!”

The surprise hadn’t even started to fade from his face when a movement in his peripheries pried a startled “whelp!” out of him.

A rat, its ruffled coat as black as the night, was scuttling along the eastern wall.

_A rat! Quick, ye supreme bampot, follow it: it’s gonna lead us to the exit!_

Aloth felt himself jolt to his feet, eyes locked on that tiny speck of fur that was now running for his life a few inches from his toes, its squeaks of terrified process echoing through the empty halls.

They’d been entangled in that mindless race for the best part of an hour when the creature’s flight came to a halt mere inches from the edges of what could only be described as of a pit of nothingness.

The mage observed attentively as it shoved his muzzle up to sniff the air, ears stretched backwards, its resentment now completely silent. 

_It’s scared_ , he realised.

Aloth’s hand closed instinctively around the grimoire, a drop of cold sweat rolling down his neck.

There was something in the air, something… weird, something just… not right.

He felt his every sense begin to tingle, a wave of dread filling his stomach. And then…

With an ear-shattering rumble, the ledge they were standing on gave away, plunging them down into the unknown.

 

* * *

 

 

When the first, flickering sparks of awareness rekindled into him, Aloth found himself surrounded by darkness. The fire orb he’d summoned had vanished along with his consciousness the instant he’d impacted on the stone below.

“Fuck me… sideways”, he moaned, pressing his palms flat on the floor and pushing himself to his knees. A twang of pain shot through his ribcage when the effort caused a cracked bone to dislodge itself. Cursing the gods, he started patting the ground around him in search of his grimoire.

Nothing. 

He sighed, his frustration well beyond the boiling point, and recited a brisk incantation. Three verses later, a faint glow had appeared to his right, pulsing at the rhythm of his heart. 

Aloth’s fingers quickly reached for the tome, and shuddered with relief at the feel of engraved leather and soft velvet under their tip. 

Another formula and a tongue of flame erupted from his palm, casting some light on the surroundings.

 

The first thing he noticed was the rubble. Scattered all around his feet, it covered the area where he’d fallen with a carpet of crunching gravel.

The second was the mightiest, bulkiest, most impressive Adra crystal he’d ever seen. 

It lay several feet in front of him, coiled in the middle of a chamber so vast his magical light couldn’t reach its boundaries.

_Remarkable_ , he thought, and begun approaching it, head cocked to the side.

As soon as the distance between them had been reduced to inches, he raised his hand, allowing the flame to lap at its cragged surface.

It was a delightful shade of emerald, its thick, protruding shards disposed in concentric rows, much resembling the scales of a live beast, like a huge serpent, or a… -Aloth felt the ground tilt underneath him- _a honkin’ dragon_.

Heart spasming in his chest, he begun retreating, slowly, gingerly, his only goal that of putting one feet behind the other without a sound, until…

*Clink*.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When the others had found themselves plunged in a way too lively argument, fingers pointing at the incomprehensible maze of corridors and rickety staircases that unwinded before them, the voting process that would ultimately decide “where to go next” seemed bound to last an eternity.

Needless to say, they were wrong.

Not even three seconds in, in fact, the way to follow had already been revealed, and with blinding clarity even… by a scream.

A scream soaked to the core with an horror so primal, so raw, so… _unspeakable_ , it plunged the deepest parts of their souls into blood-searing alert. 

And the alert quickly turned into panic when the scream was drowned out by the most colossal, ungodly sound they’d ever heard. 

It was the kind of sound only something the size of an adult dragon could make.

 

“Eothas’…”

 

“Tits…”

 

“Tell me _that_ …”

  
“Wasn’t…”

 

Brief pause.

 

_“Aloth.”_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He just… he hadn’t… he hadn’t seen it, the pile of gold stacked behind his back until… until it was too late, until the ball of his foot had landed on a loose coin, sending it rolling across the floor. And it had been that, that unnerving clinking that had awoken the monster, its sudden rage rattling the very ground it touched.

 

Aloth stood in shock, every muscle frozen with primordial fright as bolts of luminescence began pulsing through the Adra veins that slathered the walls.

He was still screaming when something akin to a mental slap hit him in the brain.

 

_Move, ye absolute coxfither, RUN!_

 

The shadow cast by the dragon’s maw had started to soar over his head- jagged, humongous- when Aloth felt a tug at his core. 

Everything went bright and white.

And, before he could regain control over his muscles, he found himself ducking and diving underneath the monster’s belly, every fibre caught into a frantic race for survival.

He ran and ran, gaze darting back and forth in search of a gap, a niche, _anything_ that could help him hide, or climb to safety … Nothing. There was no escape.

He was good and done for.

Lips moving in feverish prayer, he opened his grimoire and closed his eyes.

An arcane shield coalesced around him just as a hissing wall of vapour engulfed him into it churning, smouldering embrace.

When the beast’s claw came down crashing into his form, the world started spinning.

And then, all went black.

 

 

Pain. 

When he opened his eyes, he could feel nothing but pain. 

A pain thick and vibrant, that crawled down his spine like an electrically charged snake and bit every ounce of hair out of his lungs.

He coughed, wincing as the taste of copper rolled on his tongue.

_This is it, then,_ he thought. _It is truly over._

With a wet gurgle, he fell back against the stone wall and closed his eyes.

Surprisingly enough, Iselmyr didn’t protest nor made herself felt in any way.

_Perhaps_ , the saddest of smiles twitched upon his lips, _all it took to get rid of her was a good trashing from an enraged dragon._

And it was only when it felt something trickle down on his neck that he realised he was wrong. In an instinctive gesture, he stretched his fingers to dab at his nape, and retrieved them slick with blood.

_His_ blood.

 

Blurred memories whirled and spun in the dark space behind his eyelids. They were memories of pain, fear and guilt, and they were all his. 

But amidst them, others begun to surface. Memories of times long gone, memories filled to the brim with rage, violence and war, and they were _hers_ , but also _his_ , and he just couldn’t tell the difference anymore.

Everything went red.

And then, amidst the thick fogs of exhaustion that wrapped his mind, he found it.

The cold, galvanising embrace of fury. 

He reached for his lap and wrung the rugged spine of his book.

 

When the beast’s Adra-ridden teeth shimmered in his peripheries, he was ready.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

The dragon’s chest rumbled with glee as she stomped closer to her prey, her canyon-deep sockets flickering with predatory lust. 

**PITIFUL INSECT** , her telepathic voice projected a thunder-like roar in Aloth’s brain. **YOU CAME A LONG WAY DOWN, AND ALL TO STEAL MY RICHES.**

**TOO BAD YOU WILL NEVER SEE THE SUN EVER AGAIN.**

 

It would be a great pleasure, she considered, her scaly lips slowly retreating into a grin, to feel its tiny, naked body snap and pop between her fangs, and the sheer thought of having its warm blood gush on her palate filled her with anticipation.

With sadistic sluggishness she opened her jaws, neck bent downwards to better aim at her prey.

Her shoulder muscled tensed and shivered, ready for the kill.

And then… she froze. 

 

The discomfort of her sudden paralysis hadn’t even started to dawn on her when her mind was overwhelmed by the most excruciating pain she’d ever conceived. 

Her soul howled in agony as the tender flesh of her throat ripped and tore, her every muscle bisected by the swarm of spells that rained down her neck with unstoppable ferocity.

A single word surfaced amidst her wails as the last blurs of consciousness left her body. 

**MERCY.**

But the icy blue gaze that met hers held nothing of that kind.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

When with a final, stomach-churning lurch the dragon’s head detached from its body and fell to the ground, Aloth found himself panting on the floor, head reeling savagely, every inch of his skin caked with phlegm and blood. 

And when his companions had finished fastening their rope-ladder and had climbed down the ragged remains of the ledge, they’d found him huddled in a corner, shaken from head to toe by the most violent spasms, as tension and exhaustion wafted off of him like steam.

It took him quite a while to realise where the mighty pull that had yanked him on his feet had come from, or who the the big bearded guy that had just wrapped him in his cape was. 

And it took even longer for his tired brain to organise into sentences the wave of incoherent sounds that were currently being thrown at him.

 

“Ondra’s Sorrow, Aloth, this is _insane._ ”

 

“You all right, boy? Any broken bones?”

 

“Shit, elf, you look like a mess.”

 

The young wizard felt his legs bend underneath him, but Maneha’s strong arm curled around his shoulders, propping him up. 

He stood silent for a few seconds, his breathing gradually slowing down to an even rhythm.

Then, as soon as he’d regained some control over his clattering teeth, he raised his hands, palms stretched outwards to invoke calm. 

“First of all,” he said, “the blood is not mine. Not all of it, at least. Secondly, ”

he swallowed, _hard_ , as his body recalled the bone-shattering impact with which he’d landed on the stone minutes earlier, “I might be wounded, yes. But I’ve had it worse and, frankly, I believe it’s nothing a good night’s sleep cannot fix. All in all,” he continued, making a big show of straightening his horned headdress before pointing at the beast’s corpse with a flick of his wrist, “this was just a matter of standard arcane practice.” He looked around, meeting an array of worried faces and raised eyebrows. “And now, if you’ll excuse me…” with a nonchalant gesture, he leaned against the barbarian’s muscular frame and surrendered to fatigue. Two seconds later, everything had already faded to black.

 

* * *

 

 

When Aloth regained consciousness, he was cozily curled up in bed, head resting on a fresh feather pillow. A soft sunlight seeped in through the window, caressing his eyes into wakefulness. Not bothering to stifle a yawn, he stretched the ache of inactivity out of his bones and sat up. His room in Brighthollow was exactly how he’d left it, with two exceptions.

The first was the slightly battered deerskin garment hanging from his chair’s backrest.

And the other, the finely decorated tray that had appeared on his writing desk- right besides his grimoire

 

 

On the tray, he noticed while swinging his legs off the bed, were a glass of milk and a folded letter. 

A blissful groan left his chest as the first gulps of milk slid down hist throat.

It was still warm, and delightfully spiced.

Then, still sipping on the liquid with his pinky raised, he unfolded the letter.

 

It read:

 

“Dearest Aloth,

you’ve been out cold for two days now, but the Healers reassured us you simply needed to “rest after a period of extreme exertion”. However, they also said that, hadn’t it beenfor the enchanted stag-shaped shawl you were wearing, you probably won’t have survived your injuries. 

And that reassured us a lot less.

But you’re fine now, and that’s all that matters.

 

On that subject: your spine and ribs seem to have adjusted completely, but the horrific gashes on your back will leave you with quite a few scars. Still, don’t you worry: they’re always a welcome topic at parties, and boy, you’ll have quite the tale to tell! 

 

Also, you’ve been arguing with Iselmyr in your sleep early this morning, so we’re confident you’ll be up and conscious well before noon.

To celebrate the occurrence, I organised a feast in your honour in the main hall. 

As it turns out, the beast you’ve slaughtered was non other than The Master Below, whose misshapen skull now hangs on the wall behind my throne.

The people of Caed Nua cannot wait to greet you as a hero, and Kana even wrote a song about you. He’s beyond himself with excitement, and he just can’t wait for you to hear it.

 

As a side note, Sagani told me she’d like to congratulate you personally on the size of a… ah, peculiar part of your anatomy that, in her words, “is pretty impressive for an elf.”

That said, we’re all impatient to see you up and well, so I beg you to gather your bearings rather soon, jump into a clean change of clothes and rush downstairs at once, because, boy, we’ve missed you. 

 

Eternally grateful,

The Watcher of Caed Nua”

 

PS: Before you ask… yes. I’m going to let you sit on my throne for the evening. But don’t let it go to your head, elven friend: this is a once-in-a-lifetime occasion.

PPS: Sagani was right.

 

Aloth’s hand flew on his lips as he waited for the redness on his cheeks to fade, only for ti to slide it on his heart, whose rhythm, he felt, had quickened with a warm jolt of joy.

 

A huge smile on his face, he put down the letter and walked to the window.

The sky was a deep shade of blue, and the Grounds of Card Nua were bustling with activity. 

There was a peculiar sense of cheerfulness in the air, and it was so infectious you’d be hard-pressed to feel anything but good.

A content sigh shook him as he reached to touch the pelt. He gave it a couple gentle pats. And then, all of a sudden, he started scratching it behind the ears.

“Thank you, old mate. I am in your debt.”

Something buzzed in his skull, bringing along a slight chuckle.

_Yer totally off yer head, wizard-boy._

A smile blossomed on his lips.

_And I am mighty proud of ye._


End file.
